Judy Christenberry - Patchwork Family

You’re invited to…

Return to Tyler

Where scandals and secrets are unleashed in a small town and love is found around every corner…

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Secret Baby Spencer

Jule McBride

Patchwork Family

Judy Christenberry

Prescription for Seduction

Darlene Scalera

Bride of Dreams

Linda Randall Wisdom

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Judy Christenberry has been writing romances for fifteen years because she loves happy endings as much as her readers. Judy quit teaching French recently and devoted her time to writing. She hopes readers have as much fun reading her stories as she does writing them. She spends her spare time reading, watching her favorite sports teams and keeping track of her two daughters. Judy’s a native Texan, but now lives in Arizona.

Quinn Spencer—His prowess in the courtroom is rivaled only by his skill in the bedroom.

Molly Blake—Her new Breakfast Inn Bed caters to lovers—but her own bed is empty….

Sara Blake—She wants a daddy for Christmas….

Martha Bauer—A master quilter with a sweet tooth…and a soft heart.

Ursula Wilson—Nothing gets past this old biddy, on Ivy Lane…or anywhere in Tyler, for that matter.

Emma Finklebaum, Tillie Phelps, Bea Ferguson, Merry Linton and Lydia Perry—Tyler’s Quilting Circle—they sew the most beautiful quilts…and matchmake the most unlikely couples.

Marge Phelps—The proprietor of Marge’s Diner, where good food is served up along with plenty of gossip.

Kaitlin Rodier—The keeper of Kaity’s Kids, Tyler’s premier day care center.

Elias Spencer—This patriarch watches after his sons…but has a wandering eye for the ladies.

Brady Spencer—He doctors broken bones and broken hearts…all except his own.

Seth Spencer—The first of the Spencer brothers to fall… Will he be the only one to wed?

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Blood pumped through Molly Blake’s body as she raced across the town square of Tyler, Wisconsin.

“You’re being ridiculous!” she panted to herself as she ran, but she didn’t slow down. Instead, her mind listed the reasons for panicking.

Thank God, it wasn’t a large town square. It wasn’t a large town, for that matter. But if she’d had to run any farther, she might have collapsed.

She leaned for only half a second by the discreetly lettered brass plate that read Trask and Spencer, Attorneys-at-law. With a prayer of hope, she drew a shuddering breath and shoved away from the red-brick wall of the building and slammed back the door to the law offices.

Warmth flooded her. After all, it was winter in Wisconsin, the beginning of December. Every occupied building had its heat on full blast. And she was still wearing a knitted cap over her messy long braid, still had her navy pea jacket wrapped around her, her gloves on her hands, boots on her feet.

She shivered. The cold was coming from deep within her. From her fears. From—

“May I help you?” a pleasant woman asked.

In the almost shadowy interior of the building, Molly hadn’t really seen her.

Gasping for air, Molly got out, “I need to see Mrs. Trask, at once. It’s—it’s an emergency!”

With the calm precision of someone who loves routine, the woman asked, “Are you a client of Mrs. Trask’s?”

Molly wanted to leap over the desk and yank the woman to her feet by the elegant lapels of her gray suit, even though she couldn’t blame the secretary for her lack of enthusiasm. Molly knew she wasn’t at her best.

She’d run a few brief errands at the post office and the grocery, after dropping off her child at day care. She’d planned to hurry home to continue refinishing one of the wooden tables she’d bought for the dining room. The stained sweat suit beneath her coat wouldn’t do her any favors in the impression department, either.

“Yes!” she said, drawing out a hiss as she fought to control her temper.

“Your name and the nature of your business?” the secretary prodded.

Dear God, she might throttle the woman yet. “Molly Blake. And I’ll explain the nature of my business to Mrs. Trask. Just tell her I’m here and it’s an emer—”

“I can’t do that, Ms. Blake.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s out of the office.”

“What?” Molly almost screamed, unable to retain any semblance of sanity. If she didn’t get help, she wouldn’t be sane, anyway. If there was no hope—

Just as the woman began to caution her for her unruly response, a door to the left of the reception desk opened and a handsome man stepped out.

“Problem, Mrs. Allen?”

Molly had seen him before. Heard stories about him. Overheard him explain with great clarity his distaste for children. She wanted nothing to do with Amanda Trask’s partner, Quinn Spencer.

Anyway, he wouldn’t understand.

“Yes, sir,” the secretary said, nodding her head like a bird considering a worm. “This lady seems a bit overheated.”

“An amazing feat in this weather,” the lawyer drawled.

Molly’s dislike instantly turned to hatred. How easy to be above it all with a wealthy family, a secure job, a life of—of jet-setting!

She drew a deep breath and faced Mrs. Allen. “When will Mrs. Trask be available?”

Surely she had made that request in a calm, professional manner. Why was the woman hesitating?

It took a nod from the attorney for the secretary to open an appointment book on her desk.

“I believe she’s free on the eleventh…of January,” the woman said. She looked up at Molly over the rims of her glasses, pen in hand. “Do you want that appointment?”

“No!” Molly cried, pain filling her voice and her body. By then it would be too late. Too, too late. “I can’t wait,” she gasped, reduced to pleading. “Please, if you’ll talk to Amanda, I’m sure—”

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the man, Quinn Spencer, murmured.

Molly stared at him, shock making it difficult to even figure out what he’d said. He wanted to do the politically correct niceties when she was dying here? With a nod, she turned back to the dragon guarding the entrance to the secret cave. “Please—”

“I’m Mrs. Trask’s partner. Did you say you’re a client of Amanda’s?”

“Yes,” she snapped.

Before she could again plead for help, he spoke to the secretary. “Mrs. Allen, if you’ll pull Mrs. Blake’s file and bring it into my office, I’ll see if I can assist her, since she said her visit is an emergency.”

She might not like what she knew about Quinn Spencer. She might have decided thirty seconds ago she hated him. But she did know everyone considered him to be a brilliant attorney. Any port in a storm, as her dad had always said.

“Thank you,” she muttered, and hurried into his office as he held the door for her.

QUINN SPENCER CLOSED the door behind him even as he considered Amanda’s client. Had he made a mistake, agreeing to see her? He’d heard her name—maybe Amanda had mentioned it—but he couldn’t quite put together what business the woman was conducting with his partner.